


Calling of the Stars

by Rowantreeisme



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: -But not really, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Multiverse Shenanigans, Outer Space, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sphere of Questionable Origin, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony-centric, because Tony swears a lot, rated for language, though I don't blame him at this point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-11-21 17:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowantreeisme/pseuds/Rowantreeisme
Summary: After the Battle of New York, as they'd been calling it, Tony Stark was not doing ok. His time on the other side of the portal haunted him, shadowed his steps and crept into his nightmares, even with the team around to pull him out of his own head.So, when he wakes up in an abandoned space station holding a strange silver sphere and no memory of how he got there, possibly hundreds of lightyears away from earth, he isnothappy.





	1. Elegant Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is an AU of another movie, but I'm not telling you which movie because that would spoil everything (though, I'm sure some of you might guess.)  
> Title taken from Whispers of the Waves by buck65, as well as all the chapter titles.

It was dark. It was dark and he was weightless and _no this wasn't possible the portal was he’d been home this wasn't real it_ couldn't _be real nonono-_

And it wasn't a nightmare, _couldn't_ be, because he’d never been self-aware enough in them to wonder if he was, and god, he’d raged against the nightmares, refused sleep and chugged coffee, he’d wished _so hard_ that they’d go away but at that moment, weightless in the dark, the very _real_ dark and choking on the lack of air, he’d do _anything_ for him to wake up.

His lungs were still working, too-short gasps but it didn't matter because the suit didn’t have an oxygen supply and he was going to asphyxiate-

But, he was still breathing. He should’ve passed out from lack of oxygen by now.

Tony opened his eyes, and blinked.

He wasn't in the suit. Actually, now that he noticed it, he wasn't wearing _anything_ except for underwear, but he wasn't cold.

Not like the other side of the portal had been. So, there was that.

It wasn't dark, either. Or, it _was_ , but not entirely, thanks to the reactor, and a diffuse bluish light coming from somewhere else.

He jerked out of the ball he’d apparently been curled in, and grunted when his head hit something and sent him floating slowly towards the centre of the…

Room?

He was _definitely_ in a room. Some kind of space station, maybe, a length of hallway, maybe the joining point between other sections of the station, but the lights he could see were dark. God, he hoped it wasn't going to run out of air.

That would be a horrible way to die.

His hand bumped into something cool and metallic, and he looked down. A small silver sphere covered in lines and small circles, about the size of a softball, was floating near his hand. Aside from him, the ball was the only thing in the room with him. There were doors on two opposite sides, and…

_Stars cold space no no NO-_

Tony spun away from the window, breathing harshly. Well, if there had been any uncertainty about his location, that was long gone. God _damnit._ He wanted to scream, to yell and rage and _hit_ something. But, he had no idea how much oxygen this place had and he couldn't afford to use any more than necessary.

How had he even _gotten_ here? He’d been sitting with the team, eating indian food and fighting over which movie they were going to watch.

He couldn't remember anything past that, even though he knew there had to be _something_. He looked back down at the sphere, the smooth shape that seemed to fit perfectly in his palm. He could _see_ it. Where he could twist, press on the carved circular divots. His hands moved, pressing and twisting, the same motions he’d seen in his mind’s eye.

He dropped it as if it’d burned him, and it floated unassumingly in front of him. “Yeah, no thanks, Mr. strange alien Rubix cube. I am _not_ opening you.” He snapped, but after a moment of hesitation, he snatched it out of the air.

The movement spun him, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the window, his heart beating too hard in his chest,  his breaths coming too fast.

He turned, until he was not facing the window anymore, and opened his eyes.

He considered the door. Ok, ok. He could do this. He moved robotically, in small jerks, still clutching the sphere in his hand for some reason, he didn't know, but it was him and it and nothing else and something inside of him felt _wrong_ thinking about leaving it behind. He stretched, as far as he could, and swore when his hand _just_ missed the railing.

He flailed, kicking like he was swimming and waving his arms, and _finally_ , when he stretched out, he managed to hook a couple fingers around the bar, and pulled himself close to the wall. He hunched there for a minute, almost hugging the bar and irrationally unwilling to let _go_ in case he floated back into the center and couldn't get back out.

Tony took a deep breath, just to prove he could, and kicked off the wall, launching himself towards one of the doors, which had a wheel in the center, like a submarine hatch. He did _not_ look back at the window.

It was a little tricky to open the door without the leverage that came from gravity, but eventually, the door opened with an ominous creaking noise, and he pushed himself out into the hallway. First things first, find the engine room, assess the air situation, try to get power back. Power meant water, hopefully, and water meant not dying from dehydration.

The place was freaking him out, silent and dark and still, and Tony couldn't stop himself from looking around corners and over his shoulder at every opportunity, even though he knew it was empty, which was a concern in itself.

It didn't help that Tony had watched Clint play a horror game that had a setting almost _exactly_ like this, perched on the arm of the couch on his way down to the workshop. It’d been fun, in the light of day, watching as Clint mowed down alien after alien with exaggerated movements of the controller.

It didn't seem so fun now. He _really_ hoped that whichever aliens had built this weren’t giant murderous spiders.

He was going to _burn_ that game when he got home. When. It had to be _when_. He couldn't think about what would happen if he didn't, couldn't get back to earth. Back to Pepper and Rhodey and JARVIS and the bots and his team.

So, he locked that thought up in a tiny little box, and set it on fire. Sure, the smoke and fumes from it were probably toxic, but he couldn't deal with it any other way.

There were doors on the sides of the hallway he was in, automatic sliding doors, but without power, he had to force them open.

The room inside was little more than a closet, with drawers on the walls and bits of shelf that could fold out, but the most telling thing about it was that the entire far wall contained a sleeping bag, along with straps to keep the occupant from floating around. There were marks on the wall from pictures or callenders or just where random trinkets had been kept, and the fact that the place had been so obviously _lived_ in gave him the creeps.

He’d been operating under the assumption that the station had been constructed by drones, and the aliens who would be living here were still in transit.

But they obviously had. They had , and they’d _left_ , and the station was floating in space, abandoned and quiet.

Something had made them leave.

Tony hoped he wasn't going to run into whatever had forced them out.

He opened one of the drawers, searching for weapons or tools or rations, anything he could _use_ , and instead found neatly-folded clothes.

He shrugged, and pulled them out. It wasn't like whoever they belonged to was going to miss them.

A couple minutes later, he left the room, and continued down the hall. The clothes were remarkably human-shaped, but the style was odd. Like someone had tried to combine pirate garb from the 1600’s with SHIELD's more futeristic attempts at body armor, but they were comfortable, and he kinda liked them.

He’d also found a hand-crank flashlight, the kind that made a really, _really_ loud whirring sound when you cranked it to charge the battery, almost _identical_ to one he was _sure_ he had been trying to upgrade back home. Pretty shitty tech, really, but he was glad that he didn't have to go shirtless, or cut holes in his clothes to use the arc reactor as a light.

He’d gotten better at moving in zero gravity, launching himself along the hallways with pulls on the railings, using his momentum to spin around corners. It should have been fun, kicking off walls and shooting through the air, but it was just another reminder that he was trapped and alone and in _space_.

Something was wrong. He didn't know _what_ , the fog of panic and fear too much, too thick for him to think properly, but _something was wrong_. He felt it in his bones, in his skin, like the rules of reality had shifted, a single number out of place, like the shape of the universe was different.

The further he got into the station, the more certain of that he became.

See, this place _couldn't_ have been built by humans. Humans hadn't even made it to _Mars_ yet, and from the glimpses out the windows that he couldn't _quite_ avoid, he wasn't in the solar system. The station wasn't even near a _star_ , which was concerning and exciting in equal measure.

Except, everywhere he went, things just _felt_ human. The size of the doors, the placement of handrails, the layout and the _beds_ , the _clothes_ , hell, even the abundance of _windows_ just _screamed_ humanness at him. The temperature, the makeup of the air, the spacing and the type of the lights.

All of it was very, undeniably, _human_.

But that was impossible.

Humans didn't have the technology to _do_ this, at least not yet, but-

He propelled himself into a large area, where multiple hallways joined up, and stopped dead.

There, on the wall across from him, was the familiar eagle of the SHIELD logo.

Tony tilted his head until the logo was upright. No, not SHIELD’s logo. This one was older, bronze instead of the light grey he was used to, and the eagle was less stylized, sharper, it’s wings extending past the circular border.

This was a SSR station, the same SSR that had ceased to exist a half a century ago, at the end of the war.

 _But what if,_ a voice whispered, insistent and terrifying, _what if it was more than half a century? What if it was far more?_

He was in a SSR space station, millions of miles from home, and he had no idea how any of it was possible.


	2. Voices of the Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that the coffee machine on the international space station is called the ISSpresso? Because I think that is _awesome _.__

Needless to say, Tony was freaking the fuck out. Internally, because he couldn't afford to waste his possibly limited oxygen by screaming and shouting, but freaking out nonetheless. 

Yelling was out, but he’d decided that hyperventilating was ok. Not that he had much choice in the matter, his lungs seemed hellbent on not doing their goddamn  _ job _ , quick not-breaths that were definitely  _ not  _ getting his blood enough oxygen. 

He wondered, distantly, if he was going to pass out. He kind of wanted that to happen, if only so that he could  _ wake up _ .

Yeah, he was still hoping that this was all some sort of fucked up nightmare. Or a hallucination. Unfortunately, Tony was well-versed enough with hallucinations of all kinds, drug-induced, fever-dreams, and even, on a couple of magnificently shitty occasions, magical comas. 

This was real. He was absolutely certain of that. 

He was still working on  _ how _ it was real, be it time-travel, or just teleportation to some secret war-time SSR base light years away from a star.

...The last one was a little far-fetched, but considering the abilities of the tesseract, they  _ could _ have built a transport that let them build a base out here.

When his breathing finally calmed down enough that his vision stopped swimming, Tony pushed himself closer to the emblem, and squinted at the writing around it.

Unsurprisingly, Strategic Scientific Reserve was written in the border. 

Except it wasn't written in English. It wasn't written in  _ any _ language Tony knew. 

That normally wouldn't be a problem. No one could know every language ever, and who’s to say English wouldn't eventually evolve to be unrecognisable? Tony certainly hadn't been expecting to understand anything on the station, considering he’d thought it was alien at first. 

He could  _ read  _ it. Clear as day, he could  _ understand  _ it. It wasn't English, wasn't any language that he’d ever come across, and  _ he could still read it _ .

Tony took the sphere out of his pocket, and glared at it. “I have the feeling that this is your fault.” He said, and wow. That was pathetic. He’d barely been alone for an hour, and he was already talking to a decorative paperweight. And a useless one, at that. The sphere didn't  _ do _ anything, per se, but he felt that it was judging him, though that could just be him slowly going mad. He shoved it back in his pocket. “I’m still not opening you.” He muttered, and kicked off the wall further into the ship. 

Engine room. He could find the engine room, or a lab, or honestly, he’d settle for some sort of mess hall, or command room, or hell, even an  _ armory _ . Anywhere with something he could  _ use _ . 

And, knowing SHIELD, there was going be labs and workshops and armouries. 

It was darker away from the exterior hallways, but if that was the only price to pay for being away from the goddamn windows, he’d take it. 

The flashlight was pretty good anyways, so long as he stopped occasionally to crank it. Well, that certainly explained the presence of the flashlight. Honestly, he was  _ almost _ leaning towards his more far-fetched theory. The tesseract had already been shown to be able to move people and objects through space,  _ like him and a nuke and an alien army- _ and SHIELD, or the SSR, had plenty of time to experiment. 

The fact that the station was out in the middle of nowhere only supported his theory. If they had been able to set the location, Tony had no doubt that SHIELD would’ve put it in Earth orbit. He chucked. Much easier to start world domination when you were, you know,  _ actually near the world _ . 

He wasn't going to jump to conclusions, though. It could still be time travel.

Tony tried to swallow, and it caught in his throat. If it was time travel, who knew how long it’d taken for human civilisation to get out here. 

Who knew how long he’d be gone.

Who knew who else was still  _ alive _ . 

Pulling himself further along the handrails, he shook his head viciously. God, was this how Steve had felt? When - _ if, it was if, _ the maliciously pessimistic part of his brain whispered,  _ it was always if and no amount of denial was going to change that- _ he got home, he was going to do better with Steve. 

Oh, who was he kidding?  _ When _ he got home, he was going to lock himself in his lab and  _ drink _ . Maybe try to get Steve drunk. He knew Steve had  _ said _ it was impossible, but he was Tony Stark. He would find a way.

There was a door on his right, larger than the other ones that had just signified the closet-like rooms, and he pushed over to it, curious.

It took a couple minutes, and nearly more strength than he possessed, but he got it open.

And when he saw the inside, he couldn't stop his face from breaking into a grin. Mess-hall.  _ Sweet _ .

He pushed his way through the tables and chairs, that were on both the ceiling and the floor, towards the serving area he could see, which hopefully connected to a kitchen. Or anywhere with food. 

His stomach rumbled as if to hurry him up, and he floated into the kitchen. At first glance, it seemed empty and food-less, but there were drawers and cabinets and they were all filled with  _ food _ . 

He opened a packet of what looked like beef jerky immediately, unconcerned about toxicity, considering this was a human station, and tore off a large piece with his teeth while he opened what looked like a freezer. 

Nothing in it would be  _ edible _ , but if there was ice in it at any point, he’d at least have water.

Imagine his surprise when he opened the door, and felt  _ cold _ . “So, power in the goddamn freezer is more important that the lights.” He muttered, leaning further into the freezer to try to figure out  _ how _ it was still operating. And why it was the only piece of tech that  _ was _ .

The back panel had a quick-release latch, and he removed it, ignoring the container of ice, the tubes of yogurt, various meats, and what looked like little single-serve packets of frozen smoothies. 

Well, that would explain it. Copper pipes, winding back and forth, coated in a layer of frost. That was… fairly clever, actually. Why waste energy on cooling things, if you could get the infinite void of space to do it for you?

Tony shrugged, and replaced the panel, before shoving a couple tubes of yogurt and smoothies in his pockets and closing the freezer and looking back around at the kitchen. 

A couple minutes, he’d left with his haul, 3 bars of various composition, 2 smoothies, 4 tubes of yogurt, a pack of beef jerky, and a water bottle filled with ice. There had been a coffee maker in the dining room, and the  _ first _ thing he was going to do once he found some tools was rig the thing up to get some sweet, sweet, caffeine. The labels were all written in not-english, which he was steadfastly  _ not _ thinking about. Some sort of translation matrix, probably. Though SHIELD didn't have that kind of tech. 

He was sticking with his “it’s all the sphere’s fault” theory. He did  _ not  _ trust the damn thing, but it was too important to leave behind. 

All in all, he wasn't going to starve, he wasn't going to dehydrate, and was  _ probably _ not going to freeze. 

Jury was still out on the oxygen, but the areas of the station he was in now were seeming more and more like spaces people were using, not just the crew quarters. He opened storage closet after storage closet as he continued exploring the station, but unfortunately, most of them were empty.

So far, he had come to one conclusion. The place was  _ massive _ , bigger than the helicarrier. He started forcing open another door, bracing himself on the railing and pushing. He wasn't really expecting much at that point, but he had to check. The door squeaked as it opened, a horrible grating sound, but Tony didn't even notice it. Instead, he let out a cheer at the large black box velcro to the wall. “ _ Hell _ yes!” He whooped, tugging himself towards the equivalent of the holy grail, and opened the latch to reveal dozens of tools, held into the box by magnets.

Tony just  _ barely _ resisted kissing the damn thing. “You,” He said, flipping through the tools with glee, “Are  _ mine now _ .” 

\---

One of the wall panels he’d removed bumped into his head, and Tony grumbled before shoving it away with the hand that wasn't elbow-deep in wires. There was a crash as it collided with the opposite wall, and he sighed, the swore as the flashlight, which he’d been holding in his mouth, floated away from him, sending the light dancing.

So, working in 0-g had some  _ unique _ challenges. Not any he couldn't work around, of course, but still.

It was a  _ little  _ tricky to get used to.

...Not that he  _ wanted _ to get used to it. Getting used to it would mean he would have to  _ be _ here for longer, which meant not getting home as quick.

He  _ finally _ found the cable that he’d been looking for, an absolute beast of a wire that probably carried the power for the whole ship through it’s walls. As he suspected, there was none. He’d still had to check, though, in case there  _ was _ power, and it was the station systems preventing it from reaching it’s destination. 

Wiring the reactor into it  _ was _ an option, as in he could physically do it, but unless he knew the power draw of the station it was too risky. Unless he needed to use it to power whatever was keeping this place oxygenated, it was staying right where it belonged.

He dis-tangled himself from the wires, and pushed himself away, not bothering to re-attach the wall. He didn't really care if there was a mess of wire spaghetti and a wall panel floating around in a hallway, and it wasn't like anyone else was there to care. 

So, he left the wall as-is, packed up his tools, and continued to where he was  _ pretty  _ sure this place had their labs, based on where the majority of the power was going. Lab first, see what they were doing here, and then to the engine room to try to get the place up and running again, maybe see what computer systems they had.

The wall above him was glass-paneled, allowing him to see into what looked like some sort of medical lab. 

He floated over to the door, and tried to force it open. Unlike the others, which sometimes needed a little bit of elbow grease, but would eventually squeak into submission, this one didn't budge. He tried again, bracing on the railing and kicking with all his strength. 

Still, nothing.

Tony swore. He  _ really _ should’ve expected some of the doors to be locked. He looked for a keypad,  _ any _ sort of access, and found nothing.

Well, there was one thing for it. He took the sphere out of his pocket, throwing it between his hands and gauging its mass. “Sorry, buddy.” He apologised, and wound up to throw. “But I  _ really  _ want to get in there.” He said, and hurled the sphere at the glass wall as hard as he could. 

The wall shattered, and Tony covered his face with his arms to protect it from the spray of broken glass. After a minute, he looked up.

In hindsight, shattering a window in 0-g  _ might _ not have been the best idea, he thought, brushing carefully past the tiny safety-glass shards and into the room, scooping up the sphere as he passed.

There was something glowing in the back, and he made a beeline to it. 

Tony froze as soon as he saw the source of the light, stopped even more completely than when he’d saw the SSR logo.

Because there, in some sort of pod-bed  _ thing _ , blue-lipped and pale as the dead, was Steve. 


	3. Skeletons of Ships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what pisses me off? The fact that the apollo missions were named after the SUN god. Screw the pluto debated, the apollo program SHOULD have been named the Artemis Program and I will defend that to my dying day.

Tony had no idea how long he’d been working. 

Usually, he had JARVIS to remind him that he should really be sleeping, and if  _ that _ failed, there was always a clock somewhere, or the sun, some repeating pattern that he could base the cycle of the day on.

Even if that cycle was guard switches and threats. 

But, he had no one. For one of the first times since he’d built Dummy, so, so many years ago, he was completely, utterly alone. 

Even back in the early days at MIT and boarding school, before he’d met Rhodey, he could always at least look out the window and see people. 

Hell, even back in the  _ cave _ there’d been people. 

Well, technically, he  _ wasn't _ alone, because Steve was there, but really? Tony wasn't counting Steve until he woke up. 

So, he was alone. Which was probably why he was talking to the sphere.

Well, he was talking to  _ himself _ , mostly, but if Tony could keep a shred of dignity by pretending he was taking to  _ something _ , he’d do it. 

After all, half the reason he’d built Dummy was so people stopped looking at him like he was crazy when he muttered to himself over his latest project, a textbook, or just a mug of too-strong coffee.

“You see, here, this is  _ shit. _ Absolute  _ shit _ .” Tony said, gesturing at the sphere with his wrench to make his point before digging back into the absolutely massive battery array that covered a good portion of the engine room. “What the hell is wrong with solid-state? Really, why are they still using lithium-ion?” He said, re-wiring the battery to the rest of the network and moving on to the next one. 15 down, about 10 dozen to go. Fun.

But, if the batteries still had juice in them, and he could hook them all up right, then he could get life support and the computer back online without having to mess with the RTG.

Even  _ Tony _ wasn't enough of an idiot to open up a box of pure radiation without some serious precedence. 

He said as much to the sphere, who, because it was not a  _ paper-weight _ , did not respond. “I don’t get why everyone thinks I’m so irresponsible with these things.”

The sphere just kept floating, somehow managing to appear judgemental. 

Tony glared at it, and rolled his eyes. “Fine, I  _ might _ not have the best track record, here, but I’m still alive, and that counts for  _ something _ , doesn't it?” 

The sphere, because  _ again _ , it was a fucking inanimate, did not respond. At least Tony hadn't stooped so low as to  _ name _ it yet, but really, it was a matter of time before things went full Cast-Away, complete with drawing a face on the damn thing and calling it Wilson.

Tony snorted, before floating along to the next battery. Wilson was a stupid name anyway.  _ His _ anthropomorphized ball of issues would have a much cooler name. 

Not that it was  _ going _ to have a name.

That would be one thing too many on the pile of crazy that currently made up Tony’s life. 

So Tony continued working, replacing the damaged connections to the batteries one after another.

And if occasionally, if he’d stick out his hand like Dummy would be there with a tool he needed, or ask JARVIS to note some idea or another, if sometimes the creaking and groaning of the station’s hull sounded a  _ little _ too much like the wind around the Tower or the crashing ocean in Malibu, if he forgot where he was, not for long, just a split second but even that was long enough for remembering to hurt...

No one was around to see it.

\---

The lights flickered on, one after another, and Tony grinned before shoving off of the breaker panel and towards the nearest computer terminal.

Just two more things to fix, and then he could wake up Steve. 

The computer took it’s sweet time booting up, well, not a  _ long _ time, a couple seconds, maybe, but much longer than his computers. “Oh  _ joy _ .” Tony said as the screen finally blinked to life, showing a login screen.

Tony ignored being able to read the not-english, and hacked into the computer with ease. Even if it  _ was _ on a space-station an unknown number of years into the future, all tech bowed to Tony’s genius. 

Even shitty space-windows computers with screens thicker than shit Tony had made in the  _ 90’s _ . Seriously. 

The computer was networked, presumably with others on the station, and Tony dove into them with glee. Getting life support back on was no trouble at all, a press of a button and the machinery around him hummed to life, and Tony hadn't realised how stale the air was until fresh,  _ cool _ air flooded the room.

The next thing he did was try to find any information he could. About the date, about Steve, about what the  _ hell _ this place was, but he didn't have much luck. Either all the important data was locked away in paper files somewhere, or on a different networked computer, but nothing on this one. 

The time and date was a similar issue. The clocks had reset as during the power cut, and no other mentions of the date were made anywhere else. 

There was one thing, though. All the computers on the station, because Tony checked them all, hacked into their webcam to make sure the lights were on  _ everywhere _ , not just in the engine room, all their designations started with HE-005, which was presumably the name of the station. 

There was one, though. Firewalled to holy hell and back, with the designation OL-01.

So, in between bites of jerky and mouthfuls of tubed yogurt, Tony started to hack his way in. The security on the thing was  _ beefy _ , to say the least, way more than he’d expected. Really, even the system that controlled the  _ life support  _ was child’s play to hack. 

This was anything but. Tony, of course, still managed to break in, first to the reasonably unsecured stuff, which he skimmed. Most of it was personnel files, inventories, stuff like that. Nothing interesting by itself, but the locations and names and  _ items _ were very telling.

> _ Station AR-008 - Suply Run Inventory _
> 
> _ Viophus System - Ambassador Transport _
> 
> _ Argos Fleet 16 - Crew Rotation Delayed - Solar Storm _

Tony blew out a breath. Yeah, space. He was in space. He  _ knew _ that, but it was different seeing it written out. It was different being the only one, than having humanity advance to be able to have  _ fleets _ , and colonised  _ systems _ , none of which he’d been there to see.

It was different to really  _ see _ just how much he’d missed.

He allowed himself a moment, and dove back into the files. He was so preoccupied with breaking through the code, that he didn't notice the warning ping that was sent out. 

In hindsight, Tony  _ really _ should’ve noticed that ping, because less than 5 minutes later lines of code flickered over the computer’s screen, and the whole system went dead. 

He swore, and punched at the on button. 

Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. 

The intercom system cracked, and Tony stared at it. 

“This is the SS Adrasteia. Unregistered Station. Identify.” A vaguely female voice, distorted by the quality of the speaker ordered, and Tony wanted to rip his  _ hair _ out because she was speaking not-english, and Tony had  _ no _ idea if he could even respond.

Tony pressed the intercom button. “Uhhhhh, HE-005?” He said in English, wincing when it came out as a question. That probably shouldn't've been a question. 

There was silence for a second. “You are under arrest. We will be boarding. Do not attempt to flee or resist. Adrasteia out.” 

Tony groaned, running his hands through his hair. Quickly, he snatched the sphere and shoved it in his pocket. Some of the smaller tools went in better-hidden places, as did his makeshift lockpicks.

Tony pushed his way out of the engine room, down to the corridor, and to the exterior wall. He braced himself, and glanced out the window. Nothing. Tony swore to himself, and took off towards a different side of the station until he caught sight of the Adrasteia. 

It was nothing like the station. Sleek and dangerous looking, bristling with well-hidden weapons, the engines burning a cool blue-purple.

The tech was only the second thing he noticed, however, because painted on the nose, there was a large A, enclosed in a partial circle. 

Tony pushed away, breathing heavily, and rushed towards the row of airlocks it looked to be aiming to dock with. It had to be a coincidence. The name of the ship started with an A, after all, and circles were common design elements. 

It had to be, or Tony was pretty sure he would  _ scream _ .

He flew to a halt outside the airlock, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. In no time at all, the airlock opened, and three people floated out gracefully. 

And Tony had thought that  _ he _ was pretty good at navigating in 0-g. 

They were wearing full spacesuits, though they were so sleek, and the face masks so small, that Tony barely recognized them. “Hi.” Tony said.

They exchanged a glance, unreadable through their helmets. “Identify yourself.” One of them, the taller one, said. There was  _ something _ familiar to his voice, but the helmet distorted it so much that Tony couldn't put his finger on it.

Tony resisted the urge to grimace. “My name’s Tony.” He said, because they were  _ all _ carrying weapons and he very much did not want to be shot. Or tazed. “Who are you?”

None of them said anything, at least that Tony could hear, but one of them split, heading up the corridor, away from where Tony had come from. One of them was still staring at him, and the other was holding up a small flat device. “We are the crew of the SS Adrasteia, of SHIELD.” One of them, the woman, said.

Tony swore his heart stopped, and made his decision in a split second. “Steve. Steve Rogers. He’s in one of the labs, you have to wake him up.” Tony blurted.

The two SHIELD agents exchanged another look. “Captain Rogers is dead. He died nearly 150 standard years ago.” The woman said, and turned to her companion. “Arrest him.” She said, and Tony had no time to react before the other agent had his hands cuffed behind his back, and was giving him a pat down. 

“Wait a fucking second! Hey-” Tony started, as the agent took the sphere, his tools, his lockpicks, and the knife he’d stolen from the kitchen and tucked them into his belt bag. “I’m not against SHIELD! And, Rogers is  _ fine _ . Wake him up!” Tony called to the retreating woman, struggling as he was pushed into the other ship.

He touched something on a wall panel, and Tony was suddenly stuck to the ceiling and being dragged through the ship by his cuffs. They let him go just before a opaque glass wall, and Tony closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. 

None came. Tony opened his eyes again, managing to somersault in mid-air just in time to kick off the back wall, back to the glass wall. He collided with a crash. 

So, he was in space-jail now. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

The cuffs unlocked with a click, and flew up to what Tony was comfortable calling the ceiling, despite the lack of up or down to differentiate, before zooming out of his cell.

Tony rubbed his wrists, which were a little sore from all the yanking around, and began inspecting his cell. There was… not much.

Nothing he could use, most certainly. Everything made of a smooth, dark-grey metal, the walls and floors nearly seamlessly connected. 

There was nothing he could  _ do _ , either, and so he waited.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long before the glass turned clear, showing two of the agents, still wearing masks, the woman who appeared to be in charge, and the man who’d cuffed him, floating outside his cell. 

At the far end of the corridor, he could see the airlock closing, and panicked, he pushed towards the glass. “Steve, did you get Steve!?” He shouted.

The woman  _ looked _ at him, and Tony could tell she thought he was crazy despite the fact that he couldn't see her face. “Again, Captain Rogers is  _ dead _ .” Her head turned to the man, and she nodded. “Brace.” She said, and that was all the warning before a green light was running over the floor, a little like an aurora, and there was suddenly gravity again.

Tony, completely unprepared, fell flat on his ass with a grunt of pain. 

That was  _ nothing _ , however, to how unprepared he was when the woman took off her helmet.

Because staring back at him, absolutely no recognition on her face, just hostility and suspicion, was Natasha Romanoff. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, can you guess who the other "agents" were? I bet you can. Fun fact, the name of the ship, Adrasteia, is another name for Nemesis, the Greek goddess of vengeance. I originally wanted to name the ship just Avenger, but that'd be too obvious. If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that anything I can name based on greek mythology, I will.


	4. Digging Deeper Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the crew of the Adrasteia, and Tony plots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, I was camping! Next one should be quicker.

Tony was pretty sure he was in an alternate reality, and he was absolutely certain of three things. 

This was not his team. 

These were not his friends. 

And he could not trust them. 

The only reason Tony wasn’t currently attempting to break out was the fact that the ship was moving through deep space and he had nowhere to go, and no ideas of how to get home.

If that was even possible. Well, obviously it  _ was _ possible, he was  _ here _ , that proved that it was physically possible.

What he didn't know was if he could fix this. If he could get home. 

Not-Natasha's companions turned out to be Clint and Coulson, Coulson who was  _ alive _ and unharmed and the relief of that nearly masked the hurt from all of them looking at him like a  _ threat.  _

He wondered where Thor and Bruce were. He wondered if Thor or Bruce even  _ existed _ here, in this world.

Right now, though, the force wall of his cell was back to its original opaque, and Tony was pacing, wearing a track into the cell as he lapped it. It wasn’t really big enough to lap comfortably, it was barely big enough for him to lie down lengthwise, but sue him, he’d missed gravity. Even though the gravity on the ship was  _ slightly _ stronger than earth’s gravity, being firmly connected to the ground again, even if it was fake, made some of the lingering panic that he hadn't even noticed was there dissipate. 

The solid connection between his feet and the floor, for lack of a better word,  _ grounded _ him.

And, it wasn't like he had anything else to do besides think, and at the moment, his thoughts were not helpful. 

At least there weren't any windows in his cell. That was a relief, but he would do  _ anything _ for something to do. 

Hell, he’d only been in here for… He didn't really know, no clocks or outside sounds apart from the near sub-audible humming coursing through the floor, nothing apart from him and the walls, and he was pretty sure at that point he’d sell his soul for a whiteboard marker. 

He was debating trying to catch a nap on the protrusion from the wall passing as a bed when the force wall cleared, showing not-Natasha again.

He’d seen Natasha at work before. He’d seen her interrogate Loki, the master class in manipulation that made it very,  _ very _ obvious that her work as Natalie Rushman was not the extent of her abilities. Having  _ seen _ it, and therefore knowing what to expect, did not one  _ bit _ prepare him for being stared down by the Natasha like he was an enemy. Like he was someone she had to break.

Back at the tower, when she took the last cup of coffee or destroyed someone sparring or even during a mission, Tony was wholly and entirely comfortable admitting that Natasha was fucking  _ scary _ . 

Here, with this Natasha that wore the face of his friend but was resolutely  _ not _ , he was wholly capable of admitting that she was scary. He was a  _ great _ deal less comfortable with it, though. So, he plastered on his fakest grin and tried to look relaxed, hoping to all of Thor’s buddies that the fact that  _ this _ Natasha didn't know him meant that she couldn't read him as well. “I think there’s been a missun-”

“Full name.” She cut him off, brisk and to the point. 

So, there obviously wasn’t another version of him, here, because if they had faster-than-light travel and  _ not _ facial recognition, he’d eat his hat. Not that he  _ had _ a hat. “Tony Stark. Again, I don’t-”

She cut him off with a tone so cold Tony was pretty sure the temperature in the room dropped. “Who do you work for.” 

Yeah. He was not going to win this, but at least he knew how to play the game. Show some cards, some high cards, but keep his aces close to his chest. Despite the fact that nearly everything he’d learned from the past couple months after New York was that he could trust her, that she had his back on and off the battlefield. 

Except this wasn't his Natasha. This wasn't his teammate and this wasn't his friend. “Nobody.” He said, and it wasn’t a lie, not really, but he wasn’t going to bring Pepper into this. If Pepper even existed here. That would be a sad universe, if Pepper didn’t exist.

Natasha’s expression didn’t change at all, like she’d expected his answer. “Funny.” She said, though her expression said that she didn’t think it was funny at  _ all _ . “Hydra goons are usually more open about their allegiances.” 

Tony blinked. “What the FUCK.” He said, too disbelieving to put any real heat into the words. “I am not fucking _Hydra._ Fuck no.” He said, shaking his head vigorously and waving his hands. “I would rather cut out my own liver with a rusty spork and _eat_ it than join Hydra.” He said, and well, he didn’t _need_ to be that graphic, but it was true. 

Natasha arched an eyebrow, the first reaction she’d shown so far. “Ok. If you’re not Hydra, what are you?” She asked.

Shit. “Treasure hunter.” Tony blurted, the first thing that came to mind. Natasha said nothing, but her expression made it clear she didn’t believe him. “Saw the station, it looked old as hell but relatively intact, wasn’t registered so I went in to scout. As soon as I was in, my crew ditched me.” Tony said. As far as excuses went, it was pretty shitty, but also the only option he could see. He sure as hell wasn’t telling them he was from an alternate universe. That would only get him a one-way ticket to a lab somewhere deep in the bowels of SHIELD. 

“And somehow that involved breaking into SHIELD’s secure server?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest in disbelief. 

“That’s what that was?” Tony blurted, and anytime his brain-to-mouth filter could start working, that’d be just  _ great.  _ He should’ve realised what it was sometime before this, but he’d kind of been more focused on, you know, not  _ dying _ that it slipped his mind. At Natasha's stare, he continued. “I was just trying to get the life support online so I wouldn't, you know,  _ die _ , and maybe find a way-”  _ Home _ , his treacherous brain supplied, and he tripped over the words. “-off the station.” He finished lamely. Natasha opened her mouth to say something, but Coulson approached and the two began conversing in low tones. 

Eventually, Coulson left, and Natasha looked at him, assessing. “Every second thing out of your mouth was a lie.” She said, matter of fact. “But not the important things. Last question,” She said, and pulled the sphere out from behind her. “What is this?”

“I don't know, paperweight, maybe.” He said, and it sounded bad, even to him. 

The corner of Natasha's mouth pulled up in a grin. A small, sharp thing that meant she knew he was lying. “Can you open it?” She asked, and Tony couldn't stop himself from seeing, seeing where to push and where to twist, how easily he could do it. 

“No.” He lied, the answer a fraction of a second too late, and if anything, Natasha’s grin got wider. 

“Hm, thought so.” She said, spinning on her heel towards the far wall, and the ball disappeared as she tapped something into a wall panel. “A-shift, lights out. B-shift, we make port in 2.” She called, presumably to the rest of the crew, whoever they were. The lights in his cell darkened, though thankfully it was still light enough to see, the barrier blurring until it was opaque, and Tony was alone once more. 

Tony resumed pacing, inconspicuous checking the cell for things he could exploit. There was a button on the side of the bench he hadn't noticed before, and curious, he pushed it. A thin blanket rolled out from the wall, and the surface softened, one end inflating to make a pillow. 

Tony pushed the button again, and the blanket retracted, the pillow deflated, and the bed went back to a bench. 

Sure, he could try to sleep, but after the day he'd had, it would only end in nightmares. As it was, the room was just a little too dark to be comfortable, the glow of the reactor trapped beneath his clothes. 

So, he paced. Paced, and took note of things he could possibly exploit to get out of here, or at least to a computer so he could build himself a fake identity. Something he could use, to get a job or passage on a ship, to get tech and a workshop and everything he needed to get home. He’d get home eventually. He’d get home, or he’d die trying. 

He paced, like a wild animal trapped in a too-small cage until even he couldn't deny that he was at his limits. His vision was blurring, his head was pounding, and he stumbled more than once in his steps. 

He needed to sleep. So, he pressed the bed button, laid down, and closed his eyes. 

He only hoped he’d exhausted himself enough to not dream. 

\---

Tony woke in a cold sweat, bolt upright in bed, breath coming too fast and too hard to really be breaths. He didn't remember the nightmare, but he could guess. “J- JARVIS, lights!” He stammered, barely managing to get the words out. 

There was no response. 

There was no response, and the bed was too hard and it was dark, too dark, and his hands were clawing at his chest before he knew what he was doing, and he was really, truly hyperventilating now, choking on each breath like it would be the one that killed him, the one that didn't have enough oxygen if it to sustain him, choking on the metallic, too-dry air that was going to run out soon, this had happened before and oh god he was going to die here, again, and-

His vision was swimming and so was his head, bouncing between the cave and space and was on the verge of passing out, water or old air or both stealing away his breath, both of his hands pressed against the reactor so hard it was painful, a sharp, jarring ache that barely managed to ground him. 

And then there were hands, and a voice _ ,  _ and all of them were calming for some reason he couldn't quite place. “-breath, I need you to breath-” The voice said, a snippet of speech that Tony's brain barely managed to parse, and one of his hands was flat on someone else's chest as they mimed large, steady breaths that Tony struggled to mirror. 

“L- lights, please-” He said, the words bitten-off fragments and they apparently made sense, because the person in front of him gestured, and the room filled with light. 

Now that he could  _ see _ , see the four walls and floor and ceiling, his breathing was coming easier, and he had the presence of mind to take his hand off Bruce's chest, it was Bruce, it was a friend and he was  _ safe  _ even though he didn't recognise the room. “Are you with me?” He asked, voice soft and calming and Tony would resent being spoken too like he was an easily-spooked animal if it didn't actually fit. 

He nodded, barely a jerk of his head, because he didn't quite trust his voice to not shake yet. Bruce’s hand was still on his shoulder, and he was talking in low tones with someone else, his grip light and solid and grounding. 

His hand was still flat against the reactor, hard and unyielding beneath his palm, and he could feel the sub-audible humming that meant it was working, that meant he was  _ safe _ . 

And then he remembered where he was. He jerked away from Bruce, shoving him away and scrabbling into the opposite corner of his cell, because he was a  _ prisoner  _ here and Clint was standing outside the cell, gun trained on Tony and Bruce looked worried, both his hands up in the multi-universal sign of surrender. “Stay  _ away _ .” He spat, because these were not his friends and they'd just seen him have a fucking  _ panic-attack _ because it got a little dark, and he couldn't afford to show any more weakness. 

Not-Bruce apparently didn't get the message, because he inched closer. “Are you-”

“I’m  _ fine _ . Just stay the hell  _ away _ from me!” Tony snarled, cutting not-Bruce off with venom. He wanted them  _ gone _ . He didn't want to be alone, but he wanted reminders of exactly where he stood even less. 

He could deal with being alone. He had practice with that. He couldn't deal with forcing himself to distrust the people wearing the faces of his friends. 

Slowly, Bruce backed away, out of the cell while Clint kept his gun trained on Tony until Bruce was out of the room. 

Tony waited until the wall had clouded over, and shifted slightly, enough that he shielded his hands from any prying eyes, the movement innocuous enough that no one would guess that was what he was doing. 

Tony looked down at the ballpoint pen he’d stolen from Bruce when he’d pushed him away. It was small, common, no label on the side and regular blue ink, and if this Bruce was at all similar to his Bruce, it wouldn't be missed. 

Tony had made up his mind.

He was getting the hell off this ship, and that pen was his golden ticket.


	5. Crawling Out Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Prison-break time!

They made port about two days later. 

He didn't attempt to sleep again.

So, he waited, and planned, and counted. Counted the days, in seconds and minutes and the waxing and waning of quiet conversations above him, counted the footsteps overhead, the less-than-solid meals slid through the barrier, the pitch-shift in the almost sub-audible hum of the engines.

Every thirteen and a half hours, give or take a couple minutes, the lights changed, dimmer in the “morning” and darker at “night”. He was pathetically grateful for the fact that they didn't dim all that much, that they never left him in the dark.

Absently, he wondered how fast they were going, what the capabilities of the engine were, how far away the port was. Where the port even was, relative to earth. 

There wasn’t much else to do, other than count and pace, but other than the boredom, he didn’t really have any complaints. 

Except for the fact that he was still here. He had some complaints about that. Some very,  _ very _ loud complaints. 

But, if everything went to plan, that issue would be resolved shortly. 

If anything, he was glad it’d taken them this long to get to port, because it gave him the chance to get more information. No one else had spoken to him, but his cell was not  _ quite  _ soundproofed, and he’d been able to make a rough map of the ship in his head, and how many people there were. 

Not including himself, and Steve, because he was still a popsicle, there were four other people on the ship. 

Natasha, Clint, Coulson, and Bruce. 

And all but Clint had left when they’d docked. Coulson, to buy supplies and refuel, Bruce, to get the tech he needed to defrost Steve, and Natasha to deal with the port authorities and meet with contacts. 

He hadn’t even needed to work to distinguish their footsteps, because he already knew them, knew them like he knew his own, knew how to move and dodge and hit, based only on his team’s footsteps around him. 

And, as he worked, taking apart the pen and spare wires he’d managed to hide, twisting the pieces of tinfoil he’d torn off the meal packs, he only felt numb.

Because he knew how to fight them, too. He knew how they moved and how they hit, what they’d use to block a certain strike and how they’d retaliate. 

And if he wanted to get out of this place, if he wanted to get back to where he  _ belonged _ , back  _ home _ , he might have to. 

He might have to fight them.

He triggered the device, the tiny tube he’d cobbled together from bits he’d found in his pockets, scraps of tinfoil torn off his meal packets, and the pen, all wired under his shirt to the reactor, and the wall disappeared. He’d taken care of the camera beforehand, so all he was greeted with as he crept out and back, further into the ship, was silence.

He needed to get that sphere back. Something in him, something  _ strong _ , rebelled at the thought of leaving it behind. Not that  _ he _ wanted to leave it, either, if anything was responsible for him being here, it would be the sphere. A computer would be nice, too, though, at this point, Tony wasn’t exactly putting together a shopping list.

Really, his plan was mostly, ‘get the sphere, grab what you can, and get the fuck out.’ Short, solid, and adaptable. 

Tony found the bridge easily, considering it was just up the stairs from the cargo bay/brig, and stopped dead. 

He really should’ve expected the expansive windows. After all, he’d  _ seen _ them, from the outside, but he wasn’t beyond admitting that he was compromised as  _ fuck _ right now, between the strange air and the strange gravity that was a  _ constant _ reminder that he was in  _ space _ . 

Fuck, he’d hoped port would be on a planet, where there was more than a fucking  _ wall _ between him and nothing. Apparently, as he stood frozen, staring up at the pitch-black star-filled sky outside the windows, he was not that lucky.

A streak of blue signalling an incoming ship broke him out of his stupor, and he shook himself. Now was  _ not _ the time to freak out. 

The Captain's quarters, after he’d managed to locate them, right below the bridge, was unsurprisingly hard to break into, though he didn't really expect anything less from Natasha, alternate universe or otherwise. 

The room was… almost exactly how  _ his _ Natasha, the one who drank tea with Bruce and wore fuzzy socks and laughed silently at Clint’s jokes, would’ve decorated it, the shelves filled with books written in languages he didn’t recognise, but that he could still  _ read _ , trinkets and other scraps of memories that she would’ve denied she’d kept, and the sight made something behind the arc reactor ache. 

He pushed through it and made his way to the desk. 

The sphere was in a hidden safe in the back panel, and Tony grabbed it. He moved quickly, taking the battery out of a laptop and taking them, too, packing them in a small backpack that’d been on one of the chairs in the common area. 

He tried not to feel guilty about what he was taking, because these were  _ not _ his friends and he  _ needed _ the stuff, but he’d never been a thief, and the feeling was hard to shake.

Clint was facing slightly away from him, leaning against one of the walls in the airlock when Tony crept back into the cargo bay. 

There wasn’t another exit from the ship, at least not one Tony could find. He knew there was something below him, something where the engines were kept, and the spaces he’d seen were too small to match the outside of the ship but he couldn’t find any way to get there.

He was going to have to fight Clint, and even though he was telling himself repeatedly that he’d fought Clint before, had sparred with all of them, his heart was beating so loudly that he was half-afraid Clint would hear it, because this was different. This wasn't sparring, neither of them could tap out or stop, there wouldn't be any friendly banter as they tried to kick eachother's asses. 

He stepped forwards and swung the bag before he had time to think, had time to make a wrong move and give himself away or talk himself out of it, and it collided with Clint’s gut, the weight and momentum enough to bend him double.

Clint recovered in no time at all ,and Tony’s hand darted out and knocked the comm — no, not comm, too bulky for just a comm, a hearing aid, some things were the same — out of his ear before Clint had the chance to call anyone, twisted and threw it, already spinning back around to dodge a fist he didn’t have to see to know was coming.

There wasn’t any room to focus on who he was fighting beyond how to counter, how to  _ win _ , and he ducked and dodged and hit back, fueled by fear and adrenaline and pure desperation, and the little voice in his head saying things like —  _ keep your limbs close to his body. Keep moving. Not getting hit is more important than hitting back  _ — sounded a little like all of them, Natasha pointing out weak spots, Steve warning him about incoming fists or kicks, and Clint, telling him how to shake off the ones he couldn’t dodge.

He knew the rhythm of this fight, knew it like an earworm, and when Clint took his gun out, Tony was ready, grabbing the barrel and twisting, pushing his whole body into the move and forcing the gun from his hands even as he locked the other end of the handcuffs he’d stolen around Clint’s wrist, jabbing his elbow down into Clint's neck, a move that ironically, Clint had taught him, leaping back out of range when he crumpled.

The gun was a solid weight in his hands as he moved, picking his bag up and slinging it over his shoulder. Clint was staring up at him, unmoving, slumped awkwardly with one of his hands chained high behind him, anger and fear and grim resignation and-

Tony felt bile rise in his throat, and he was dismantling the gun before he’d even thought to do it, because Clint thought that he was going to  _ shoot _ him. That he was going to  _ kill _ him. 

He left the parts of the gun scattered on the floor, and he didn’t look back at Clint’s confused expression as he left.

\---

Tony stepped out of the Adrastia into a narrow hallway. It was well lit, which was nice, but he couldn’t see either end and from there, and he really had no idea where to go. So, he picked a direction and started walking briskly. He had a head start, only barely, considering the speed Tony had seen Clint pick cuffs, but hopefully, it’d be enough to find a spot to hunker down, or better yet, leave altogether. 

Sure, he didn’t know  _ where _ he was going to go, other than  _ away _ , but the thought of doing something, some bare-bones structure of a plan, helped his mind settle, at least a little bit. Or, the fact that he had a  _ goal _ , something to work towards, something he had to do, was just keeping the panic at bay, like a dam.

A dam, that he was pretty sure was going to break as soon as he let his guard down.

Well, he thought, hitching the bag to try and stop the stuff in it from digging into his back, guess he couldn’t afford to let his guard down then. 

The planet below thankfully nearly blocked any view of the stars out the windows, which were still  _ way _ too abundant for his liking, huge and green with blinking cities, far too little water to be earth. 

He kept walking, and eventually, his hallway joined with another, like branches of a tree, and became more and more crowded until Tony was all but forced to go with the flow.

Tony had been worried that he’d stand out on the station, considering his mismatched clothes that were more than a century out of date and the bag that did  _ not _ look like it belonged to him. He was just glad he had shoes, but being arrested for looking like a space pirate was not on his agenda. 

He shouldn’t have worried.

In total, he spotted  _ maybe _ three humans, four if the woman with pointed ears and pink markings was just really big on the whole elf vibe and had gotten some interesting tattoos. No one was wearing the same style of clothes, some draped with bright fabrics and jewellery that flashed and rattled, some more reminiscent of army fatigues. Hell, he wasn't even sure some of them  _ were _ wearing clothes at all, the armoured chest plates of the short insect-like aliens too similar to the exoskeleton on their face and hands for Tony to be really sure. 

He bumped into a large alien with far too many teeth, lost his balance and fell to the floor, still trying to react to different gravity, different air, when it spun to look at him, heart pounding in his chest because teeth,  _ seriously _ , and claws, and about 200 pounds out of his weight class and holy shit this thing was going to  _ eat _ him. 

There was something about being stared down by a predator, by something nature deemed worthy to continue living while others had failed, that was instinctually terrifying. Tony had faced giant robots and science experiments gone wrong and alien armies and terrorists, and he'd never been frozen in fear before. Maybe, it was that those times, he could  _ do _ something, could fight and focus on the numbers. Though, it was just as likely that there weren't any instincts formed around doombots. 

Though, with the number of times that asshole had attacked New York, he wouldn’t put it past the population to start developing them.

Obviously, his flight or fight response was badly, badly broken, not that he’d not already know that, because instead of running for his life like any sane, rational person would do when being stared down by the horror movie version of Chewbacca, Tony opened his mouth to say something, something scathing and witty that would  _ probably _ get him killed and glared up at the creature.

And all the words got caught in his throat when it crouched and stuck a giant paw in his face.

He reached up, and took the offered hand, hoping he wasn't reading the gesture wrong. 

He wasn't. The alien tugged him too his feet, and growled an apology. “Sorry. Still gettin’ used to the gravity?” It asked, in a strange, gruff accent, and still not entirely sure he wasn't hallucinating, Tony just nodded. “Well, good luck to ya then.” It said, and slipped back into the crowd. 

First alien interaction, and it’d gone… well, not  _ great _ , but he hadn't been eaten, so maybe things were going to be ok. 

\---

Things were not ok, because Tony was lost. For a given value of lost. He knew where he was relative to the Adrastia, despite the measures he’d taken to lose any tails he might’ve had, but other than that, he had nothing. He had no idea how big the station was, no idea where  _ anything _ was, no idea what even was on the station, but considering he’d been walking for a good 30 minutes, and he was  _ still  _ in the dock area, it was big.

The corridor he was in connected with more, until it was easily the size of a street, the ceiling arching high, with a second row of airlocks lining the sides, and as he watched, an alien walked past him. On the  _ ceiling _ . 

He was  _ itching _ to get his hands on some of this place’s tech, if they could control gravity that precisely. 

He took right into a smaller hallway, ducking back and looping around, taking turns at random and getting himself even more lost than he was before, the idea being that if he didn’t know where he was, then anyone looking for him wouldn’t either.

“Hey, you.” Someone called, and Tony stopped and turned towards the only other person in the hallway, a human-looking woman with deep laugh lines etched around her eyes. She nodded when she caught his gaze. “You an engineer?” 

Tony narrowed his eyes at her, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder and angling his feet away just in case he had to bolt. He wouldn’t put it past anyone to be a contact for SHIELD. “Maybe. How’d you know?”

The woman grinned, and pushed off the side of the airlock, where she’d been leaning. “You’ve got that feel about ya, like you’re taking apart everything you see in your head, and when you put it all back together there’s some pieces left over.” She said, and at his look of confusion, gestured vaguely to her head. “I’m half Verranal, got the empath genes from my mum.” Empath, and now that Tony looked, her skin looked shimmery, almost iridescent, like a dragonfly’s wings. She must’ve sensed his discomfort, at someone being inside his _head_ , because her face tightened like she’d tasted something sour, and held her hands up. “Look, mate. It’s not exactly voluntary, on my part, and any secrets you’re keeping are yours to stay. Couldn’t steal ‘em if i wanted to, and I’m no thief.” She said vehemently.

Against his better judgement, he believed her. He shifted his balance, and took a step closer to be out of the way of people walking. “...So you want to hire  _ me _ .” He said flatly. “For what, exactly?”

She nodded, still grinning. “Yep. My previous engineer up and quit on me. Internal dispute.” 

Yeah. That could mean either they’d had a disagreement over which kind of scone to have for breakfast, the engineer had mutinied and tried to steal the ship, or the captain had taken offence to the pattern of shirt they were wearing and keelhauled her. He opened his mouth to say so, probably in less offensive wording, because he didn’t even know how keelhauling would  _ work _ in space but he really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to find out.

“I don’t allow pets on my ship.” She elaborated, probably sensing his suspicion. “She’d somehow smuggled a raven in, which, gotta commend her sense of humor. Anyway, don’t know  _ how _ she managed it, but there’s no hard feelings between the two of us. She’s always welcome back, but well,” She shrugged, one shoulder lifting in a half-shrug, “She likes the raven more than she likes workin’ for me.”

“O-kay.” Tony said, drawing the word out. “But why do you want  _ me _ .” 

She shrugged, again. “Honestly? Because I’m pretty sure you’ll accept.” She said, and then she was looking right at him, eyes like dark opals, catching the light and throwing it back, making him feel about an inch tall, scrutinized like an under a microscope. “You don’t want to be here. You want to be  _ anywhere _ but here, and, it’s like- you have the opposite of wanderlust. Above all, you want to be  _ home. _ ” 

Tony just nodded, still feeling trapped, like he couldn’t look away. 

There was the tap of footsteps in the corridor, and he turned, ready to bolt if needed, and nodded at the mottled green alien who was hurrying on their way, chirping into what was probably a phone.

He turned back to the woman. “...And what if I say yes?” 

She beamed at him, wide and delighted and utterly at home on her face. “We’re leaving in the morning, or as close to it as we can get. Headin’ out to Yy’ven,” And the word seemed to fracture into different meanings, _Library_ and Knowledge and _Place of Learning_ , and Tony tried to shake his bag discreetly, hoping to get the sphere to understand that whatever that was, it was _not_ ok. The woman continued. “It’s ‘bout a 5-sol travel from here, stopping at Port Fallow on the way. You’ll have your own bunk, in the engine room, as long as that’s not a problem,” She said, looking back at him, and he nodded. “Food and stuff’s covered, and you’re free to leave at whichever port we dock at.” She finished, and looked at him expectantly.

“I’ll… I’ll think about it.” He said eventually, and if possible, her grin got even wider. Tony couldn’t help but notice that her teeth weren't spaced quite right, and that they were a good deal sharper-looking than any human he’d seen. She dug in her pocket, nearly spinning around with the motion, and stuck out her hand to him.

Tony took a step closer, and she dropped a crow-shaped piece of black paper on his palm. “I know you will. If i’m not around when you come back, show this to whoever’s at the door. They’ll let you in and show you around.” She said, and seemed just short of slapping herself on the forehead. “Oh! Right, Name’s Julia. Captian Julia Crow.”

“Tony.” Tony said, and she beamed, again as Tony tucked the little crow in his pocket, and walked away.

So, crows, ravens, and presumably other corvids, other birds existed. Did that mean that  _ earth _ existed too? Or was it just a massive case of convergent evolution, and the sphere translating things slightly wrong? 

He didn’t know, and it pissed him off.

The corridor he was in opened into a massive room, what looked like a marketplace, crisscrossed by other corridors and bridges that looked like they’d once been the exterior of a much,  _ much _ smaller station before more had been built around it. Granted, the smaller internal station was at  _ least _ as big as the SSR station, but still. 

The Meili  _ dwarfed _ it. The entire thing fit in the single market-room.

There were no walls. The floors curved up, and the gravity kept his feet on the ground even now that he was perpendicular to the floor he’d started on. 

He really,  _ really _ wanted to find the engine room for this place, and thinking about  _ how _ they manipulated the gravity here, what kind of tech it might be, helped calm the panicked part of his mind. At least until he passed another window.

The entire situation, the fact that he just  _ couldn’t  _ stay calm, the fact that he wanted to bolt whenever he caught sight of the stars out the window, made him irrationally angry.

Or, not so irrationally. Because, four years ago and any time before that, if this had happened, it would’ve been one of the most exciting things that had ever happened to him, alien life and alien tech and the stars close enough to touch, the power to cross half the galaxy in a week or less, even just the fact that no-one knew who he was, no one was chasing him with cameras or microphones, no one spared him a second glance, if it’d happened then, it would’ve been a  _ dream _ .

Except, it wasn’t then. It wasn’t back when the only ties to earth had been the company and Rhodey, it wasn’t back when he’d wished, looked up at the sky and wished  _ so hard _ that he could go there, could be the first pioneer into a new frontier, wished  _ so much  _ that some day, he would be able to fly.

It wasn’t back before he’d flown through a wormhole and knew that he was going to die, it wasn’t back before he’d somehow gained a family.

_ Be careful what you wish for, _ some part of the back of his mind whispered, and yeah, he should’ve been.

He’d wished to go to space and he’d wished to fly, and he’d gotten both of them. 

But that was before he knew how cold space was, what it was like to fall.

He pushed through the marketplace a little more violently than was probably necessary, ignoring the multilingual heckling from the various shopkeepers as he took an exit hallway at random, turning off at the first chance he had, twisting and turning and walking until he was even more lost than before.

There was a huge space, as big as the market off the docks or bigger that seemed to be a park, filled with terraces and arching bridges, maze-like paths and meandering streams. There were larger grassy areas that Tony was reasonably sure backed onto a school or university, benches with people eating lunch or reading, and what looked like community gardens scattered around. 

A couple kids were flying around on what looked like homemade surf boards, thrusters mounted to jagged scraps of metal, looping and shouting and twisting in between where the gravity shifted.

One of them swooped low, sending the water on a small lake flaring up, and they got close enough to where Tony was standing that he could see the hexagonal weave of the solar sail, the ecstatic grin on his face, both eyelids open as far as they could, purple skin flushed deep blue with excitement, how he stomped on a pedal when he nearly clipped a tree, spiralling back up to join his friends. 

It looked… fun. Dangerous, certainly, but fun. Almost certianally illegal, or frowned upon, which was proven when an official of some sort ran up to them, and the kids scattered, leaving him once again alone in the middle of the park.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was back home, standing in central park, people calling out and laughing and birds chirping.

He didn’t stay there long.

Now, though, he’d found an unlocked maintenance tunnel entrance near one of the busier corridors, and had wedged himself far enough inside that no one could see him, but he could see out just fine. He was still a little too close to the docks, to the  _ team _ than he was entirely comfortable with, but the place was at least as big as Manhattan, if not bigger, and he really needed the lay of the land before he wandered off again.

The laptop he’d taken was in pieces around him, and he was crushing bits that were almost certainly trackers and tossing them into a shaft a couple feet away from him, just in case. He’d move again as soon as they were gone, but right then he wanted the laptop untraceable and  _ useful _ more than he wanted to move, more than he wanted information.

Especially information on Yy’ven, whether it was a planet or a system or a star, whether or not he wanted to take Crow’s offer and get away.

Away from his not-team, somewhere he could work on getting himself  _ home _ .

Once all the bugs were removed and the hard drive wiped, he pieced the laptop back together, powering it on and building some firewalls before connecting to the wider station network. The code was unfamiliar, not a programing language he’d ever encountered before, but if Tony Stark ever met a piece of tech he couldn’t hack, he’d eat his socks.

The network was easy to connect too, considering it was public and didn’t even require a password, but he was stopped from doing anything else when a voice spoke out of the computer. “Welcome to  _ Meili _ \--” She said, and the word fractured again,  _ home _ and  _ sanctuary _ and _ traveller's rest _ ,  _ crossroads _ and  _ port _ and  _ market _ , and Tony glared at the sphere, which was sitting on top of his bag. “Station. Do you require assistance?” 

Tony kicked the sphere, sending it rocking against the curved wall to land back by his foot, an utterly useless gesture that none the less made him feel a bit better. “Maybe. Who are you?” He asked, double-checking to make sure whoever this was, probably some customer service representative or something, couldn’t get anything out of the laptop. Not there was anything on it, but he didn’t want anyone finding him through it.

“I am named Adiona. I am the computer guide for  _ Meili _ . Do you require assistance?” She asked, in the same exact tone as previously. 

Computer guide, so limited AI, most likely. Probably not more than a couple translating algorithms and a databank of answers. Nothing like JARVIS, or Dummy, or Butterfingers or You or even his goddamn  _ coffee machine _ . Nothing like his home. 

...And, he was crying, poorly muffled sobs and stuttering inhales, and he was fucking  _ pathetic _ , he didn’t have  _ time _ for this, didn’t have time for bawling about what,  _ homesickness _ , of all things, but  _ god _ , he missed them, missed his bots and the team and Rhodey and Pepper and Happy, and he missed  _ JARVIS,  _ because this was the longest he’d gone without him since the fucking  _ cave _ , and that was really not a thought he wanted to follow-up on right now, thank you very much-

“Sir, are you in medical distress?” The AI, Adiona, asked, not sounding worried or concerned, not sounding  _ anything _ , just flat and empty and faintly accented like everyone else here was, like he  _ wasn’t _ .

“Do _ not-”  _ Tony snapped, furious for a single instant before all the fight drained out of him. “Don't call me that.” He repeated, softer because this AI might not be sentient, might not be able to understand anger or emotions beyond knowing their names, but he wasn't so cruel as to blame her for not being JARVIS. 

“What do you prefer to be referred to as?” Adonia asked. 

“Tony. Just- I'm just Tony.” He said, running one of his hands through his hair, allowing himself a moment to collect himself, and hunched over the computer. “Ok. Adonia, let's see what i’ve gotten myself into.”

\---

Adonia, it turned out, wasn’t very helpful, at least for the info he wanted, aside from the basic map of the station. She did have a sister, though, Abeona, who seemed to be the station’s version of air-traffic control.

Turns out, his guess of the size earlier was pretty spot-on, and the Meili even had a rapid transit system not unlike New York running throughout the whole thing, which would’ve been helpful to know  _ before _ he’d decided to take a hour-long treck on loose-fitting shoes.

For everything else he needed, though, hacking was required. Like the gravity and air composition, which had just a little more carbon, a little less oxygen than earth air. Well, if anything, it certainly explained why he wasn’t thinking right, why he constantly felt just a little out-of-breath, not enough to harm him, but enough to remind him of choking. 

Enough to remind him of asphyxiating. 

Yy’ven, too, he’d looked up, and that had cemented his decision to take Crow’s offer. It was a planet, slightly larger than earth but much more oxygen-dense, with oceans and forests and icecaps.

And  _ cities _ . Cities, which, if his search hadn’t deceived him, were home to the largest collection of knowledge in the known  _ universe _ , home to libraries that could each comfortably fit his tower at least 4 times over. 

If anywhere had a record of how he could get home, that would be it.

Before he went back to Crow's ship, though, which he’d found out was named The Raven Congress, literally translated, of course, because the fucking sphere wouldn’t let him see it any other way, he wanted  _ food _ . And a place to hole up that  _ wasn’t _ a maintenance shaft.

He’d found just the place, too, an inn that looked surprisingly house-like, for all that it was wedged into a corner of a space station, wood-paneled and with an actual honest-to-god slanted roof, and offered complimentary food and board to anyone who was willing to work for it. Best of all, though, was that it was in the exact centre of the station, the furthest point from any exterior wall. 

Yeah, it was a little pathetic, but he’d take any comfort he could as long as he could  _ think _ , think properly and something  _ other _ than the void of space.

He’d fixed the flickering lights and the broken wall screen, and had earned himself a bowl of stew with purple potato things that tasted a little like grapefruit, chunks of meat that he would’ve been comfortable calling pork, had he been on earth, and a flaky pastry folded around a sweet pink jam that tasted a little like currants and a little like maple syrup.

It was some of the best food he’d ever tasted. Though, he could’ve been biased due to the fact that it wasn’t faux-gurt.

Not that he had anything against meal replacement paste, it tasted alright, but seriously, he’d missed  _ chewing _ . 

One of the simple bugs he’d planted when repairing the lights blinked at him, and he turned on the audio. “- and you’re sure it was him?” He heard Natasha ask, tinny over the shitty microphone, and swore quietly.

“Yes. Is- Is he  _ dangerous? _ ” Another woman, the owner of the inn asked, sounding scared. “I mean, he didn’t  _ seem _ , but-”

“I assure you, ma’am, he is not dangerous,” Coulson replied, “He is someone that our organization is interested in, that is all.” 

Tony scoffed quietly. Yeah. That was  _ totally _ all, but he guessed that nobody wanted a panicked civilian on their hands. Quietly, he stood, keeping the laptop open as he slung the bag over his back. They’d have the stairs covered, and Clint was no doubt somewhere with a good view of his window. 

He left the room with a pillow under the cover, and slipped across the hall, unlocking room number 7 with the key he’d picked from the actual tenant, who was still down in the bar. He left the key in the knob, crossed the room, and climbed out the window.

A couple of handholds on a pipe and a short drop later, Tony was on the ground, creeping past the inn away from any sightlines to Clint’s most likely perch.

He’d just turned into a side corridor leading back to Crow’s ship when he felt a pinch in his neck, and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adonia: Roman goddess, the counterpart to Abeona. They are both guardians of travellers and watchers of a child's first footsteps. Abeona is the goddess of the outward journey, and Adonia is the goddess of safe return.

**Author's Note:**

> Come bother me at my [tumblr!](rowantreewrites.tumblr.com)


End file.
